NECESSARY MEASURES

by Alexander, Hannah

Archer Pierce stood in the shadows of the church auditorium, enthralled by the graceful movements of his fiancée as she counted the steps from piano to pulpit to organ in deep contemplation.

  “Think we’ll fit?” he teased.

  If she caught the humor in his voice she chose to ignore it as she returned to the piano for another check. “Think there’s a way to downsize the stage so we can make room for more guests?”

  It wasn’t easy to be serious this close to the wedding. “If we invite many more you’ll have to cut the train on your dress.”

  She turned a not-quite-teasing frown on him. “Careful, Pierce, or I’ll call the tailor and tighten the waistline in your tuxedo. Better yet, I’ll order you a pink shirt with ruffles and lace.”

  “I’d wear it if you really wanted me to.”

  A smile broke through at last and it felt to Archer as if the tiles of the ceiling had slid aside to reveal bright afternoon sunlight.

  Jessica Lane was the most beautiful person in the world. Physical beauty aside, she had a more vital spirit than anyone Archer had ever met. He stood staring into her lively hazel eyes and tried hard not to get lost in them while she described with her typical theatrical gestures the ambience she wanted to create at the church for their wedding. She was thrilled by the fact that the auditorium would already be decorated for Christmas.

  In three weeks and one day Archer would be a married man—not only that but he would finally be a legitimate pastor in the eyes of his church. Some of the more conservative members had questioned the wisdom of having a single thirty-four-year-old pastor lead them, even if he was engaged to be married. When Jessica broke their engagement last spring and rumors had spread about him and Lauren, he’d almost lost his job.

  He couldn’t believe that the day of his dreams was almost here. Dad would officiate and it seemed that half of Dogwood Springs would be in attendance. “The balcony will probably crash with the extra weight.”

  Jessica shook her head at him.

  He added a mental note to request that the ushers seat only skinny people upstairs. “I don’t suppose a set of scales at the foot of the steps would be—”

  “Archer!” The sound of her laughter thrilled him.

  Archer had found himself wishing more often as time passed that they’d planned a short—very short—engagement. All he wanted to do now was take the most beautiful woman in the world into his arms and hold her and tell her how much he loved her.

  “Heather will be here when she sings.” Jessica gestured to a microphone stand in front of the piano. “She’ll be wearing green silk. The piano will be covered with lace. The other bridesmaids will wear—” Jessica paused and wiggled her fingers in front of his face. “Archer, are you listening?”

  He took her expressive hand and drew it to his lips for a kiss. “I’m listening. Heather is wearing a lacy piano with candles and—”

  “Archer,” she whispered, making no attempt to pull away.

  “It all sounds beautiful,” he murmured. “I’m so glad it’s finally going to happen I don’t care if the best man wears ribbons and lace or if we kneel at an altar covered with satin bows and baby’s toes or whatever that stuff is they use for those things these days.”

  Jessica chuckled gently, whether to reassure him that she appreciated his juvenile sense of humor, or simply because she was giddy with nerves, he couldn’t tell. She kissed him on the cheek then drew back and looked into his eyes. As usual, riotous waves of hair the shade of autumn oak leaves fell across her high forehead. She appeared every inch the beautiful singing star of Branson. At this moment she gazed into his eyes as if he were the center of her universe.

  They had begun to spend more and more time together lately. In accordance with the advice Dad had given to prenuptial couples for the past thirty-odd years, however, they spent less time alone with one another. Archer loved and respected Jessica. He knew they would remain physically pure in every way but he wanted to remain emotionally pure, as well. They both longed for more opportunities to know each other better and so they talked on the telephone a lot. They exchanged e-mails and texts constantly.

  Jessica turned and surveyed the far corners of the large auditorium. “We’ll never fit everyone in here.”

  “Maybe we should hold our wedding the way we hold Sunday services—do it twice.”

  She sent him a playful scowl. “I‘m not getting married twice. Once is enough to last me a lifetime.” She stepped down from the stage and wandered to the center of the church. “I hope Heather doesn’t get silly and start flirting with the ushers or the groomsmen. She was once asked to sing at her best friend’s wedding. She made a few slight adjustments to her dress, and—”

  “Please don’t tell me. Knowing Heather, she did a strip tease down the center aisle after the ceremony.”

  Jessica chastised him with a look.

  “Oh no. Before the ceremony?”

  “Archer.”

  “Sorry but I’m nervous enough without wondering about what kinds of practical jokes your baby sister’s going to play on us.”

  “It won’t be that bad.” Jessica frowned. “Probably. Heather has her professional reputation to think about.”

  “When has that stopped her before?”

  Jessica shrugged. “She’s grown up since her last fiasco.”

  Archer continued to shrink from thoughts about what the undisciplined Lane sister might do. Even worse, he shuddered to think about what his own church youth might pull. Or Hardy and Roger McCaffrey. Even Lauren couldn’t corral her two younger brothers anymore and they’d agreed to serve as ushers.

  A fine thread of tension deepened the exquisite lines of Jessica’s face. She had endured more than one episode of doubt about becoming a pastor’s wife. The pressures of responsibility could be overwhelming at times. Even Archer felt it and he was accustomed from birth to living in this particular fishbowl; his father had been the pastor here when Archer was born.

  Jessica, on the other hand, had little church experience. When she was a child the only church she knew was vacation Bible school every summer. When she moved to Branson four years ago her baby sister, Heather, had dropped out of college and moved in with her. When Heather attempted suicide a year later Jessica turned to a church in Branson for help. Archer had been serving at that church as a youth minister and had found help for Heather while developing a great friendship with her older sister.

  “We have more RSVPs than we have seats now,” Jessica said. “I’m just glad we have a large reception hall.”

  “We could still rent a theater for the service,” Archer said.

  She chuckled. “If we did that it would be a spectacle and not a wedding.” She turned to him and took his hand, her generous lips pressed together. “If we hadn’t already made the plans and sent out the invitations I would be very tempted to take you up on your offer to elope.”

  Knowing the sacrifices she would make to share his life made their relationship that much more precious to him. “You have nothing to worry about. They already love you.”

  “They don’t know me.” The final threads of laughter had died from her eyes and her gentle grip eased from his. “Not the real me. Not the me who needs privacy, who doesn’t react well to telephone calls at two in the morning, who refuses to be the chairperson of every committee they think I should join.”

  “They know you have a career of your own.”

  “I already heard Mrs. Netz muttering about that to her Sunday school class.”

  He felt a rush of irritation toward that deacon’s bossy wife. “I’ll talk with Helen.”

  “No. Please. It’ll just make things worse.”

  There was a polite knock at the foyer entrance. “Pastor Archer?” The church secretary stepped from the shadows at the back of the auditorium, her silver-gray hair reflecting the overhead lights like a halo. “Got a call for you. Can you stop by the hospital in a few minutes?”

  He heard Jessica catch her breath then let it out with
a near-silent sigh.

  “What happened?”

  “Some of our church kids had a fender bender. Apparently nothing too serious. Those Sheldon twins and that Webster boy who hangs around with them.”

  Oh no. And Grant was on duty today. “Tell them I’ll be there.”

  “Tell them we’ll be there,” Jessica amended. She took his hand, squeezed it, and looked into his eyes. “You might as well start training me now. This is one job we’re going to share.”

  ***

  Grant saw the boxy orange-and-white ambulance negotiate the final curve on Oak Street with sedate caution. No lights flashed, no siren sounded, and he slumped against the building in relief. He’d been told they weren’t coming in hot but he needed to see it for himself.

  As the vehicle approached the bay he glimpsed Brooke sitting in the passenger’s seat. She looked angry.

  As soon as the ambulance pulled to a stop she unbuckled her seat belt and shoved the door open. “Dad, don’t freak. We’re all okay.” She came bouncing from the ambulance in full-speed monologue. “It wasn’t Beau’s fault, we were just driving through town minding our own business when some blind maniac plowed into our front bumper. Mr. Gaylord—you know the pharmacist?—made us get out of the middle of the street while he called for help and nobody got the blind maniac’s license number because it happened so fast.”

  Grant reached for his daughter and pulled her into his arms then held her back so he could see her. “Is that blood on your face?”

  “Evan’s. He was bleeding before the truck hit us but Christy made him let her strap him down.”

  “Before the truck hit you?”

  Brooke put a hand on his arm. “Don’t blow a fuse, he got beat up at school. We were on our way here anyway so we thought it might be a good idea to have you check him out.”

  “He was beaten up at school?” Grant’s voice had suddenly developed a will of its own. He could not control the horror that quaked through his words. “Did you call the police?”

  “We didn’t take the time.”

  Bill slung the doors open at the back of the vehicle. “They all looked pretty good,” Bill called over his shoulder as he reached in to help Christy.

  “He’s right,” Brooke said. “Evan was composing his next editorial when that maniac blindsided us. Beau insisted on checking us all out while we waited for the ambulance.”

  “Your girl refused treatment,” Bill said. “No surprise there but we got both the boys to cooperate and put them on long spine boards with C-spine immobilization according to protocol. Vitals are what you’d expect, normal as you can get for sixteen-year-old kids.” His casual Ozark drawl curlicued around the words and numbers of vital signs as he pulled Evan out on the stretcher.

  Christy reentered the van. Grant wanted to go with her to check Beau for himself but instead he leaned over Evan’s stretcher.

  “Dad.” Brooke tugged on the sleeve of his white coat. “I told you not to freak.”

  “I’m not freaking. Evan, where’s the blood coming from?”

  “Head mostly.” He squinted up at Grant. “I lost a contact lens. This backboard is hard. Do I have to stay on it?”

  The kid’s complaints gave Grant a surprising sense of relief. “Give me a chance to check you out first, son.”

  “Brooke and I ran all the way across campus after Kent hit me. If he’d damaged my spinal cord I couldn’t have done that, could I?”

  “Sometimes you won’t realize the extent of your injuries or your pain when your adrenaline is pumping. Hang on for a few more minutes.”

  The hospital entry door slid open and Lauren came racing out of the ER, her face pale. She stopped when she saw Brooke and relief registered in her eyes.

  “Lauren,” Grant said, “take Brooke to an exam room and check her out. On your way in, would you please tell Vivian to call the police? There was an assault at the high school.”

  Brooke huffed at him like a nine-year-old. “But I told you I’m fine.”

  “Sit on her if you have to,” he told Lauren, ignoring his daughter’s protests. “Just do an assessment.”

  Lauren reached for Brooke’s arm. “Gotcha. Come on, sweetheart, you heard the man.”

  Brooke evaded her grasp. “Why won’t anybody listen to me?”

  Lauren outstepped her and put an arm around her waist. “Humor him. He’s your father. He’s upset. This will make him feel better.” She wiggled her brows and winked at Brooke.

  At last Grant’s unmanageable daughter allowed herself to be managed. No one but Lauren could do that these days.

  Grant shifted into automatic, leaning over Evan’s stretcher for neurologic check. Normal. The blood caked on his face and hair had come from a cut on his scalp.

  After what seemed far too long, Christy pulled the last stretcher from the back of the ambulance. In spite of Bill’s warning, Grant felt a sharp tug of alarm at the sight of his son strapped to a backboard encased in a stiff-neck collar. “Beau?”

  “Yeah,” came Beau’s studiously uninflected voice.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m alert and oriented times three, I’ve got a Glasgow Coma Scale score of 15.” He rattled the terms off as easily as he could verbalize his trigonometry exercises from school. “I don’t think I have any focal neurologic deficits.”

  Bill chuckled. “We can tell that’s your kid, Dr. Sheldon. He can almost treat himself.”

  “Brooke and Evan are fine, too, as far as I could tell after the wreck,” Beau said. “But since I was the driver and got them hurt in the first—”

  “Don’t,” Grant said.

  “He’s upset,” Evan whispered. “Just remember the wreck wasn’t his fault.”

  Grant laid a hand on Evan’s bony arm and called, “Beau?”

  Christy and Bill rolled him forward so Grant could take a closer look.

  “Yeah.” There was a catch in Beau’s voice this time. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”

  Grant should be the one reassuring his kids, not the other way around. “I know.”

  There was a stretch of silence. Beau swallowed. “I’m just sorry. Evan needs you. I’m fine.”

  As Grant pushed Evan through the automatic doors into the ER proper ahead of Beau’s gurney, he fought a vicious flashback of the nightmare his family had endured two and a half years ago: The car coming toward them across the median; Beau’s shout of horror from the backseat; Annette’s gasp and her, “Oh, dear Lord, help.” Then came the sudden explosion of sound and pain. Darkness of heart had never quite gone away.

  “Dr. Sheldon, you okay?” came Evan’s gentle voice.

  Grant gave himself a mental shake. “Let’s get that wound checked out.” He wheeled Evan into the laceration room and looked up in time to see Christy and Bill transport his son down the hall.

  What horrors must Beau be reliving? What had gone through his mind upon impact?

  Evan reached for one of the straps that secured him to the backboard, his thin bony arm flexing with underdeveloped muscles. “I can’t believe I left my phone in the car. Do you think the police will hold it for me?”

  “I’m sure they will.”

  “I hope so. I got a lot of up-to-the-minute stuff on that. Do you think if I call them they’ll find it for me?”

  “I hope they’re already on their way here.”

  Vivian stepped to the open doorway. “Evan, you’re living with your father aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, Mom’s remarried. She lives in Springfield.”

  “So does your father have legal custody of you now?”

  Evan scrunched his lips into an awkward bow, which emphasized the dark bruise across his cheek and jaw. “Mom still does.”

  “Then I need to call her.”

  “No you don’t. Mr. Gaylord already did that while we were waiting for the ambulance.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “You don’t have to call Dad either. They’re both probably on their way here. Get ready for the Great Christmas Clash. It happ
ens every year around the holidays. If they can’t find something to fight about, their Christmas is ruined.”

  Grant nodded to the LPN who came in to assist him. “Todd, set up for staples. If the cut is straightforward enough we’ll use them so we won’t have to shave so much hair.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Sheldon,” Evan said. “I already have enough trouble getting people to take me seriously.” His prominent Adam’s apple took a bumpy ride up his throat and back down. “Uh, it’s not going to hurt is it?”

  “It’ll be over before you know it. Todd, I need to go take a look at Beau. I’ll be back.”

  ***

  Lauren pressed the bell of her stethoscope against Brooke’s chest. Except for an abrasion on her arm, the sixteen-year-old showed no signs of injury from the accident. Of course, Grant would want to see that for himself as soon as he finished with Evan and Beau.

  “Your heart’s beating a little fast.” Lauren raised the stethoscope and stood back, studying the consciously stoic expression Brooke had adopted as soon as they entered the exam room. “You still upset about the car?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” The firm yet delicate line of Brooke’s chin took on extra definition. Her dark gray eyes focused into Lauren’s with that characteristic Brooke Sheldon stare. “Beau and I worked hard for that down payment.”

  “The car can be fixed.”

  “It won’t be the same.”

  “I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you.” Lauren dabbed the abrasion on Brooke’s left forearm with a gauze pad soaked with surgical cleanser. She had come to know Brooke too well these past few months to be fooled by the tough-girl stare. Deep within those eyes were tears that she was too stubborn to shed. “You never wanted that particular car in the first place.”

  The stare shifted to the closed door. “Beau wanted it. He loved that car. He’s the one who drives so carefully and makes us buckle our seat belts.” She gave Lauren another quick glance. “He’d just finished making us buckle up before impact or things could’ve been a lot worse. Why did this have to happen to him? Now he’ll start having the nightmares again.”

  “Again?”

  “He had them after the wreck.”